There's No Me Without You
by Masquerade45
Summary: AU. Stiles is husband to a wealthy & powerful CEO. Derek is a lowly waiter at a New York City restaurant. But one night, Derek is Stiles' waiter. Will their meeting be the beginning or the end? By the way, Stiles' husband is Jackson!
1. Table for Two, Spaghetti for One

_**This is my first Teen Wolf fanfiction! It is an AU, in case you didn't catch that. I hope that I can continue this story. And I trust that you all enjoy my little story! **_

_**Reviews are helpful and-in-fact they are wanted!**  
_

_**Thanks to Tamnation for Beta-ing this story! I couldn't have done it without your ideas and corrections! :)**_

_****_**DISCLAIMER:_ I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters, etc. _**

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**_Table for Two, Spaghetti for One  
_**

_Fuck! Where the hell is he? _Stiles frowned as he stared at the phone in his hand. He was sitting at a table for two at _The Amethyst_, New York's premier restaurant on his wedding anniversary. The problem? His husband was nowhere to be seen or found. Stiles was waiting for a call, text, or anything from Jackson.

_Nope, the rich guy couldn't even trouble himself to call or even send a text saying, "I'm running late, but I'll be there," "Stuck in traffic," "I'm too busy cheating on you." _Stiles chuckled at that last one. _Well, at least my sense of humor isn't affected. _He set his phone on the table as his mind went racing back to the main issue, the whereabouts of his husband.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, a young waiter stared at this young gentleman through the door. This gentleman seemed to intrigue him. Maybe it was the fact that he arrived two hours ago and hadn't ordered anything, not even a breadbasket. Or maybe it was the pensive and agitated look that swept over his face while glancing at his phone every ten seconds. He didn't know what to do. So he finally made up his mind to ask his manager about the situation.

"Linda, there is a guest who has been here alone for two hours and hasn't ordered anything. I've been occasionally asking if he wants anything, but he wants nothing."

"Derek, where is the guest?" The manager was a fragile woman, in her sixties, who governed her restaurant with the highest standards. She had built her restaurant with her own hands and saw it prosper. And although she was fragile, she had the spirit and energy to match that of a twenty-year-old.

"Over there," Derek, the young waiter, guided his finger to where Stiles was nervously biting his napkin.

"Oh, that's Stiles Whittemore," replied the elderly woman.

"Who?" was all Derek could say.

"My dear, that man is husband to Jackson Whittemore, CEO of Whittemore Corporations," Every word seemed to be filled with such pride. "One of the largest and most successful oil companies in the world! I'm shocked you don't even know this."

"Oh, but-" Derek was about to explain that he had just recently moved to New York, but her voice carried over his.

"But it seems that Mr. Jackson is nowhere to be found on this special night. Work! That's all that man ever has time for these days. He's simply forgotten that he has a husband to care for!"

"What's special about tonight?" Derek asked. He knew he shouldn't pry so much, but he was too curious to even care.

"Why, tonight is their one-year anniversary! Imagine that, your own husband forgetting his first wedding anniversary. That is such a shame." She turned around, shaking her head and was about to walk away.

"Wait!" Derek shouted. "What should I do?"

"Send him one of our finest champagne with congratulations from me and the restaurant," replied the old woman.

"Don't you think you should be the one?" Derek asked and immediately regretted ever asking that question.

The woman's facial expression morphed into someone Derek had never seen before. Her eyebrows furrowed and the kind smile quickly turned to a sarcastic smirk. "Derek, I am running one of the top restaurants in all the state of New York. I have angry guests, incompetent waiters and $10,000 I'm shelling out for a divorce. I gave you a task and I expect it to be fulfilled if you wish to remain an employee at my restaurant."

"Yes, of course," Derek hashed out a quick apology. Even after that, he felt like he should have bowed down when she stormed off to criticize another waiter.

"Rough day?" asked the cook, who was whipping up an apricot glaze.

"Yeah, and it just gets better and better," Derek put his face into his palms. He was starting to regret his decision to accept this position, but he desperately needed the money. "Hey, where is the finest champagne we have? I have a guest here on his anniversary."

"You'll have to ask Ryan. He knows what to give you."

"Where is he?"

"You'll find at the bar. Most likely showing off to anything that walks!" the cook chuckling as he went back to his work.

Derek walked towards the only person at the bar, who was always busy improving his craft by inventing new concoctions, or so he was told. He automatically looked like a model pulled from the latest Gucci photo shoot. He must've been around 5' 11" and of a strong built with muscles that were obviously constrained by the black uniform. He had a very tan complexion, He had that look on his face that screamed "I'm a douche-bag and I'm what you dream of at night." Already Derek was beginning to dislike him.

"Hi, I'm in need a bottle of the finest champagne." Derek leaned on the bar table, hoping to just get the bottle and go.

"I'm sorry. No can do. Linda has to approve it. If she doesn't approve, I don't either," replied the arrogant bartender.

"Linda was the one who sent me. I have a guest who is celebrating his wedding anniversary and-" Once again, Derek was cut off again.

"Look just because you work here, don't think that you deserve any special treatment. Linda keeps an accurate list of everything, including alcohol. So don't think that I'm just gonna let you have your way," he retorts.

_What a douche-bag! I think this bartender is asking me to shove one of these bottles into that hole he calls a mouth, _Derek thought. He actually considered it, but he backed down. His job was too important to lose over some stupid bartender.

"Hey dickhead," Derek motioned for Ryan to come closer and whispered, "I was told by Linda to give a bottle of the finest champagne to the table of Mr. Whittemore. If you don't believe me, ask her yourself. But, either way, I'm getting that bottle." He pulled away and gave a pat on Ryan's shoulder. "Got that, _Ryan_?"

"You said Mr. Whittemore, right?" A wide-eyed Ryan asked.

"Yes, I did." He slowly spoke to emphasize his point that this whole conversation was totally unnecessary.

"Here you go then," handing over a bottle that was simply labeled _Amethyst_. Derek grabbed the bottle and walked off.

_I can't believe that jerk. He's really asking for it. How am I going to be able to put up with that! _With that thought running through his head, he approached the table that was reserved for two but was only for one instead.

Stiles' mind was off somewhere trying to conceive an idea of what was so fucking important that his husband would miss their first wedding anniversary. Too occupied by his own thoughts, he didn't notice the waiter standing in front of him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Derek asked in his most professional tone.

_Most likely, he's probably sitting in a cloudy room, boasting his achievements to wealthy old geezers, discussing "business" and smoking cigars. _Stiles never knew exactly what his husband did except the fact that Jackson was CEO of his own company and #3 on Forbes' Top 100 List, even though he'd asked on numerous occasions. But every single time, the replies were always the same, "_It's too complicated to explain to you_," or "_You wouldn't understand._" Of course, Stiles was hurt by these words, but over the course of their relationship, he had grown a thick skin and was used to such comments.

_*Ahem* _"Sir," Derek had cleared his throat, hoping to gain the attention of his customer who was clearly somewhere else.

"Yes?" Stiles snapped out of his world and found himself suddenly towered over by a waiter holding a bottle of champagne.

"On behalf of _The Amethyst _and the manager, we would like to present a bottle of our finest champagne to celebrate your one-year anniversary." Derek wanted to sound genuinely happy, but he couldn't after seeing this sight.

"Oh, well, thank you." Stiles managed to look up and give a half-smile. He didn't know what to say, so he began to stare at the door, hoping to see his husband rush in. But thankfully, he didn't have to say anything more.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?" Derek decided to give it one last try.

"No, I'm fi-" Stiles was cut-off by Derek, who kindly offered a suggestion.

"How about I tell the cook to whip up some spaghetti? You can never go wrong with spaghetti?" he offered in his most cheerful voice and this time he forced a smile.

Stiles was ready to say no, until the waiter smiled. When he saw that smile appear, everything just seemed to be better. He was rather hungry and spaghetti did sound delicious.

"Sure, why not?" replied Stiles, managing to crack a full and genuine smile.

"Alright, I'll have that out to you right away." Derek turned back to the kitchen and was grinning ear-to-ear. He actually made him smile on what should be one of the happiest days of his life. He felt very proud of himself.

After this encounter, Stiles smiled and chuckled to himself. _Well, there's no need to waste a perfectly gorgeous evening. Jackson must be having the time of his life by now, whatever he is doing. So, why can't I do the same? _

What almost seemed like seconds later, Derek was carrying out a plate of spaghetti to his guest, "Here you go, hot and fresh! Enjoy."

"Thank you." Stiles said as he pulled the napkin over his lap and began to dig in. He never realized how good spaghetti tasted till now. And it was absolutely superb. He enjoyed every bite. When Stiles was finished, Derek cleared his plate from the table.

"I'll be right back with the bill." Carrying the tray into the kitchen and setting it down, Derek looked over his shoulder and saw his guest smiling to himself. _Yes!_ He had done well tonight. But, he continued to sympathize with his guest. It was his anniversary, after all. And no one should have to be alone on their own anniversary, in his opinion, it was just tragic.

"You got him to eat something?" Linda exclaimed.

"I guess you could say I did," chuckled Derek, inside he was happy that he'd helped make someone's terrible evening somewhat better.

"I'm surprised, but delighted. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to," quickly she began shouting at one of the cooks. But Derek didn't pay any attention. Somewhere deep inside him, this guest struck a chord with him.


	2. Broken Dreams

**_Author's Note_**: I finally uploaded the 2nd chapter! This chapter took me awhile, but it was worth it to get it right! Thanks to everyone for the follows, reviews and favorites. I appreciate it enormously!

There is a point where I added a song. The song is Colbie Caillat's "_Magic (Piano Version)_." So you might want to find that song before you start reading it. I know it is unexpected but it definitely sets the mood. I'll label it *Stiles' Dream* so you can play it at that point.

Again, Thanks to my beta, Tamnation. Without your help, this story wouldn't have been what it is! Thanks again! :)

REVIEW, FOLLOW, FAVORITE! :))

_******DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters, etc._

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**_Broken Dreams_**

"That shipment was due two weeks ago... Yes, I realize that the weather has not been favorable... A month from today? No, that's out-of-the-question... I'm saying that you do your job to the best of your ability... Well, I may just have to find other sellers, if you can't deliver what I paid thousands of dollars for… Next week? Thank you." The young businessman slammed the phone back on the receiver and pressed his hands to his head. He was by no means pleased. He had been dealing with apathetic workers, suspended shipments and miserly buyers. _There couldn't be anything to make this evening worse. _He quietly thought.

_Knock, knock._

The young businessman was startled by the knock on the door. He hurriedly straightened his tie and stood up. "Yes?"

"Mr. Whittemore?" The secretary spoke in a hushed tone.

"What is it, Susie?" Mr. Whittemore sighed.

"I thought I should remind you that you still have an appointment at _The Amethyst_._"_

"An appointment? I don't remember making such an appointment. Who is it with?" he spoke brashly, startling his secretary.

"Umm… your husband. Today is your one-year anniversary." Andrea mumbled.

"Cancel it. I have a phone conference in ten minutes." Jackson was too busy to deal with a meager anniversary. He was determined to succeed in his business. That was the one thing that he knew he could do well, his job.

Stiles, having paid the bill, stood up from the round table neatly spread with the starched eggshell tablecloth. He walked past rows of tables and guests, briskly. The crowd seemed to be staring, waiting for him to fall apart in the middle of the Great Room. Brushing past a waiter who nearly toppled over, he didn't even bother to offer an apology. He wanted to run out as fast as he could, but that would only cause a scene. _And who knows who is here, just waiting to spread some gossip? _He silently thought, breathing a sigh of relief when he stepped into the elevator.

Staring at the stainless metal he saw an endless Stiles. His palms were sweaty as he pushed the button leading to the ground floor. His mind was full of everything he didn't want to think about. _Where is my husband? Is he cheating on me? Was he murdered? What if he was hurt and in the hospital? Why didn't he call or at least text? Does he even love me? _His eyes began forming pools of that ever-familiar liquid. He just wanted to fall on the floor and weep. _No! Stop it! Don't make a scene. Pull it together, Stiles._ He mentally slapped himself to regain his composure.

Suddenly, Stiles heard a ding as the elevator opened. He lowered his head, hoping this would hide his glassy eyes.

Derek stepped inside as the doors slid shut. Glancing to the side, he wanted to see who was riding with him. _Shit! It's Mr. Whittemore! What should I say? I should have never got on. Should I even try to talk to him? No, I just need to keep my mouth shut._

But to his dismay, his mouth had no intention of taking orders from his mind. His mouth opened and words just seemed to flow off his tongue.

"I'm sorry about your husband," Derek muttered.

"What was that?" Stiles' attention was snapped back to his current surroundings.

"I said, 'I'm sorry about your husband.'"

"And that is really none of your business." Stiles was in no mood for a prying waiter. "And who told you? It had to have been Linda, right?"

"Yes, it was. And if you don't mind me saying this, your husband is a dick." the waiter asked gingerly.

"Excuse me _waiter_?" Stiles emphasized the last word, hoping to remind him of his place. "What gives_ you_ the right to give me relationship advice, let alone call my _husband_, a dick? You don't even know him. So I suggest that you shut up!" After a couple minutes of silence, Stiles thought, _Yes! That shut him up. One for Stiles! _But, as always, he thought too soon.

"Derek."

"What?" The shorter male sighed, furrowing his brow.

"Derek. That's my name," the waiter continued. "And for someone who was stood up on their first anniversary, you seem feisty." He was beginning to enjoy this, a twinge of guilt began to creep through his body, but his mind told him otherwise. _He started it. _Derek's subconscious was mentally pointing his finger at Mr. Whittemore.

"Is there a problem with that?" Stiles raised his eyebrow, looking at Derek through his eyelashes. But he just recalled a few minutes ago, when he considered lying on the floor to cry. _Well, fuck, one for Derek._

"No, but it is odd. I'd imagine you'd be dying to get out of here just to sit in front of the T.V. with a tub of ice cream watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ or a corny romantic comedy of some sorts." Derek smirked as he cocked his head to the side.

_That isn't a half-bad idea. That makes two for Derek. Man, I suck at this game. _Stiles thought. _But damn, he's good. _Stiles subconscious seemed to slap him. _Are you going to let him just get away with that?_

"Is this what you do? Insult your guests. I must say that your life must be tragically dull if you have to offend strangers you've never met." Stiles growled. _ "So, let's play your game. Guess what my favorite ice cream is, since you're so good at judging people."_

"I'll take that challenge. Well, judging by your all-too-classic order of spaghetti tonight, I would say chocolate. But you're not ten, so a bit more complex than just plain chocolate. But what?" Derek cupped his chin and stroked his stubble. "I could say mint chocolate chip, but it's still too plain."

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't have all day." Stiles had to admit that he was awfully close. _Don't say raspberry and dark chocolate. Don't say raspberry and dark chocolate. Don't say raspberry and dark chocolate._

"Maybe raspberry and dark chocolate?" Derek cracked a smile and eagerly waited for a response.

"Close, but so far away. It's strawberry." Stiles knew that lying was better than having someone see right through him, describe his typical evenings in and, not to mention, guess his favorite ice cream. _Tonight's score: One for Stiles, Three for Derek. _His subconscious was quietly sitting and grimacing.

The elevator was approaching the first floor as both men were laughing. Derek chuckled, "Well, I was close. You were-" His attention shifted to the doorway as his words faded.

Stiles, still laughing, looked at what had caught Derek's attention and saw a 5' 8", perky brunette standing there with glimmering hazel eyes. Her shoulder-length, chestnut hair was pulled into a neat bun, tendrils falling naturally along her pale skin. Clad in nothing but a knee-length plum dress and a leather jacket, her appearance seemed to cause the twinkle in Derek's eyes to fade.

"Hi, babe," leaning in to kiss him, her expression the opposite of Derek's.

"Jane, what are you doing here?" Derek asked, breaking the kiss.

"Can't your girlfriend come and pick you up?" Jane chuckled.

"Of course, you just startled me."

Stiles could feel his cheeks turn red. _Stop blushing! You didn't do anything. It's just a simple conversation with a complete stranger… who read you like a book._

"Hi, I'm sorry for being rude. You were obviously in the middle of talking to my boyfriend. Who are you?" Jane turned and faced Stiles.

"I'm-" Derek interrupted Stiles. "This is Stiles Whittemore. He was a guest at work and we just happened to get on the same elevator."

"Hi! Nice to meet you, I'm Jane. His girlfriend." She whispered 'girlfriend' as she tugged on Derek's black tie.

"Nice to meet you." Stiles quickly murmured. "I really have to go." He walked out the door and glanced behind him through the glass door. Facing Jane's back, his eyes met with Derek's before he turned and started walking down the sidewalk.

Stiles unlocked the door to the apartment, which should have been his and Jackson's. But lately, he didn't know where Jackson spent his nights. Whenever he got home, Stiles was either asleep or out. Stiles kicked off his shoes and began pulling his tie off and walked to his room. He didn't care that he was still in his clothes or that he didn't brush his teeth. Falling into bed, he hugged the pillow he desperately wished was curled up with Jackson.

***_Stiles' Dream_** *

_"Stiles, wake up," someone placed a delicate kiss on Stiles' eyelids. "Darling," a voice coaxed._

_"Mmmm…" moaned Stiles, his eyes fluttering open as a thumb slowly slid across his bottom lip. He was pleasantly surprised to find Jackson lying next to him in bed. Jackson was still in his pajamas, hair tousled and propped on his elbow, caressing Stiles' face._

_Most days, Stiles' was accustomed to hearing the noise of "everyday" New York City. But today, he could only hear the gentle pitter-patter of rain against their apartment's window._

_"Good morning."_

_"Mm, morning." Stiles rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard._

_"I canceled my meetings today. I thought today we could just spend some time together," Jackson whispered as he tilted his head, brushing his nose against Stiles'._

_"Are you sure you're free to do that? I know you're busy, closing deals, merger meetings, and Susie said you're especially busy… the conference call with Hong Kong is today. And-"_

_Stiles was interrupted by Jackson's lips pressed against his own. Their passionate kiss turned heady as Jackson's tongue dominated the kiss by delving too soon into Stiles' mouth. His breathing hitched when suddenly Jackson broke the kiss._

_"When will you ever learn to stop talking so much?"_

_"And when will you learn to stop interrupting me like that?" Stiles playfully smirked, turning to the opposite side, facing away from Jackson._

_"Come here, you." Jackson murmured, pulling his husband close to him, engulfing him in a hug. "I love you so much."_

_Stiles grinned ear-to-ear, curled up in Jackson's strong, yet caring arms. He enjoyed breathing in Jackson's usual scent of body wash and a scent he couldn't quite pinpoint. But it calmed him, while exciting him at the same time._

_ "I love you too." Stiles beamed into Jackson's soft green eyes._

_"Come on," Jackson quickly kissed Stiles and jumped out of bed. "I've made breakfast."_

_"Oooh, I'm starving," Stiles chuckled as he slowly climbed out of bed and stretched. He followed Jackson, admiring the prominent ripples and dips in his back. Already, he could smell what Jackson cooked before reaching the kitchen. He sat at their table and Jackson walked over carrying a plate of cinnamon-raisin toast (his personal favorite, especially on rainy mornings), eggs and bacon._

_"It smells delicious." Stiles kissed Jackson cheek as he was offered a cup of coffee._

_"What did you want to do today?" Jackson said, sipping his coffee._

_"Do you mind if we just walk in the park?" Stiles was speaking with a mouthful of raisin toast._

_"Yes, I think that would be per-"_

Stiles woke up, drenched in a pool of his sweat. His breathing was heavy and his pillow was soaked. Turning on his side to face the window, his ears were filled with the ringing sound of sirens. He stumbled out of bed and walked to the bathroom, nearly tripping over a pile of clothes. Flicking the switch on, he stripped off his soaking clothes and stared in the mirror. Drops of sweat were running down his flustered cheeks. He turned and stepped into the shower. The water was streaming down his back was freezing cold. He didn't seem to notice because his mind was too busy replaying his most recent dream. Soon, tears began to fall down his face as he attempted to stifle back the sobs. Unable to hold it in, he fell to his knees and cradled his face with his hands, sobbing.

Jackson was preparing for a phone conference that was going to be the deal of the year. He had landed a contract that guaranteed an enormous profit and was going to make him invincible, but as usual, his advisors were late again. Sitting alone in a conference room, he pulled out his phone and glimpsed at the brightly illuminated screen.

_5 text messages from Stiles. _He slid his thumb across the screen and began viewing the messages from his husband.

_*Hi, I'm here at the restaurant! -8:08 p.m.*_

_*I'm surrounded by old people, help me. -8:45 p.m.*_

_*Okay, the wine is getting warm. Still waiting for you. -9:20 p.m.*_

_*Where are you? -10:00 p.m.*_

_*Well, I guess you're busy. Going home now. -10:34p.m._ _*_

*Ring, ring.*

"Sir, are you ready?"

Jackson's head tilted up to see the room full and for once in a long time, these people were waiting on him. "Yes, of course. Proceed."

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